


145 Pta = 1 USD

by BeveStuscemi



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 03:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16188827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeveStuscemi/pseuds/BeveStuscemi
Summary: Half a million pesetas can get you a used car or a small home in the Kijuju Autonomous Zone.





	145 Pta = 1 USD

Mandy watched as the strange man emerged from the revolving doors. Rucksack in hand, the man scanned over the various features of the bank and wiped his filthy boots on the rug adjacent to the door. Mandy frowned. Something about the man was off and if his intention _was_ to rob the bank, he was making it obvious in the way he was dressed. Tattered black overcoat and bandana wrapped around his face screamed thief to Mandy and her fingers drew closer to the alarm situated under her desk. Without warning, the man called over to her.  
“You do exchange rates here?” His voice was muffled under the bandana and Mandy had to lean in hard to understand him.  
“Yes, we do have a bureau de change here, if you’d like to come over.” Her long red nails tapped impatiently on the desk as the man walked over. He took a seat opposite the desk and peered through the glass barrier to look over the exchange rates. Much to his dismay, the currency he hoped to be exchanging was not listed.  
“What currency will you be exchanging today, sir?” Mandy asked, part bored and part sceptical.  
“These Spanish coins for US dollars,” The man replied, cheerfully. He opened up his rucksack and poured the contents into the tray under the barrier. Mandy’s scepticism turned to shock as a multitude of gold coins fell into the tray. “I’ve counted ‘em; five hundred thousand Spanish pesetas. What can you give me?”  
Mandy collected the coins on her side of the tray and began to count. Dealing in coins was usually unorthodox and most transactions took place via paper money. It also made the counting process longer since there was no visible number to mark the worth of the currency. After a couple of minutes of counting, Mandy concluded that the man was correct and that there was indeed five hundred thousand pesetas sitting in front of them.

“Did you say you wanted US dollars, sir?” Mandy asked as she pulled out her calculator.  
“Yeah,” The man replied. “Hopin’ to buy property somewhere.”  
“Good luck with that, sir,” There was a sarcastic edge to her voice as she typed in the numbers. “The value is three thousand, four hundred and forty-seven US dollars.”  
“WHAT?” The man’s voice was loud, even under his bandana and a few of the bank patrons turned to stare.  
“Sir, please keep your voice down.”  
“No! There’s no way I walk in ‘ere with half a million and leave with less than four thousand.”  
Mandy rolled her heavily lined eyes. “Sir, you walked in here with half a million pesetas. Pesetas haven’t been used since 2002, that’s seven years ago.”  
The man stammered. “N-no, I was dealing in pesetas five years ago! I was in Spain!”  
“Then you should have been using euros. You were buying and selling in a redundant currency.”  
The colour drained from the man’s face and all of his transactions raced through his mind. All the guns, ammunition, treasures and medication he’d sold for a fraction of their worth. He felt like he was going to pass out.  
“What now?”  
“You won’t be buying property. You might get a nice used car though.” Mandy’s red lips curled into a cruel smile.  
The man groaned under his hood. His plan was to live in the States for a bit but it looked like he’d have to relocate. “What’s the most I can get?”  
“Probably West African franc,” Mandy entered the details again. “Yeah, you can get two million West African francs from half a million pesetas.”  
“Two million? Deal!” The man’s hooded eyes lit up with enthusiasm at the new offer.  
Mandy sighed. “I’ll start the transaction. I don’t know why you’d want to go to West Africa with all that Kijuju nonsense going on.”  
“Kijuju nonsense, eh?”  
“Yes, sir. The Kijuju Autonomous Zone is in turmoil at the moment. Civil war, international meddling and all sorts.”  
The man smiled under his bandana. War meant guns, guns meant profit. International meddling meant American agents sent to foreign countries with little armoury. _Perfect_.  
Mandy gathered the francs and slid them into the tray. The man gathered the assorted paper and placed them into his rucksack.  
“Thank you.” The man said as he turned to leave, eyes shining with the thought of profit.

-

“This is the life.” The Merchant took a sip of his cocktail and placed it back onto the table next to him. He stretched back on his lounge chair and smiled as his body took the full brunt of the African sun. There was little sound, save for the occasional gust of wind that caused the dust surrounding his small home to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. He had sold off the last of his stock to people of Kijuju a few days ago and his rewards were wonderful. With more money, the Merchant had finally decided to retire from arms dealing and instead live out the rest of his life in semi-luxury in the savanna. His house, though small, was better than the wooden cabin he’d been forced to live in during his exploits in Spain and he was far away from most villages that he didn’t have to worry about murderous villagers trying to shove needles in him.  
“ _To hell with it.”_ He thought as he took another sip from his drink and stretched his legs over the lounger. How many years was it since he last wore shorts? He couldn’t bring himself to ditch the old coat though. He knew he looked stupid wearing a heavy coat and bandana with sunglasses and a pair of shorts but there was nobody to tell him he looked ridiculous so he couldn’t care less.  
Or so he thought.

“Hey.”  
The Merchant opened his eyes. He must have fallen asleep for about five minutes because there certainly wasn’t a truck outside his home the last time he was conscious. The man inside the truck had eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and an arm hanging lazily out of the window.  
“Who-?”  
“I’m Chris Redfield, I’m part of the BSAA. I’m making my way to the Kijuju Autonomous Zone, is this the right way?”  
If the Merchant had known he’d be meeting an American agent he’d have saved at least one pistol to try and sell. American agents were pretty easy to convince.  
“Keep goin’ the way you’re goin’. You’ll get there eventually, stranger.” The Merchant adjusted his position to try and get back to sleep but to his dismay, Chris was still there.  
“Thanks. Hey, be careful around here. Kijuju has been having issues lately.”  
“Oh, I know, stranger. I live here.” The Merchant replied through gritted teeth.  
Chris ignored him. “There’s been reports of bio-weaponry around here so I’d advise you to be on lookout,” Chris revved his engine. “Stay safe.”  
“Bio-weaponry?!” The Merchant leapt up from his chair but Chris was already gone, leaving nothing but a trail of dust. This couldn’t be happening, not again. He had to leave Spain due to some moron blowing up his intricate cave system. He wasn’t prepared to leave Africa for another moron unleashing hell-on-earth and blowing up his hard-earned home.  
The Merchant took another sip of his drink, which was now lukewarm.

“Shit.”


End file.
